


3. No, no, it's my treat

by loumillerlesbian



Series: 100 ways to say I love you [1]
Category: Ocean's 8 (2018), Ocean's Eleven Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: F/F, First Meetings, Pickpockets, Pre-Canon, aka how debbie ocean met lou miller and fell in love with her the second their eyes met, because let's be real, that's how it happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-19 15:21:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17004165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loumillerlesbian/pseuds/loumillerlesbian
Summary: Lou shrugs. “I know a good con when I see her. And I know a con in need of a partner, too.” She grins at the way Debbie can't hide her frown because she’s right, but it irks Debbie to admit that. “All I’m saying is, if you ever decide to step up from this -” she gestures around vaguely “- then I could be your woman.”And really, the rest is history.





	3. No, no, it's my treat

**Author's Note:**

> long time no see, I guess... I've been so busy it's insane, and not even with studying - the sheer amount of time I've spent just doing stuff with friends here is astonishing but that also means I haven't been able to write as much as I might want to :/  
> I'm also taking part in the Ocean's 8 gift exchange so I'll be focusing on that now and then I got exams so you'll have to be patient with me :)

It’s hot and loud and humid, and absolutely not how Debbie Ocean would like to spend her Friday night. Except it is, maybe, because doing _this_ means free drinks and a couple hundred dollars in just one night because nowhere else are people so unaware of their surroundings. Nowhere else is she so easily underestimated.

It’s thrilling to know that she would never be suspected when she's in a short dress and high heels because nobody remembers her face like this; just another pretty thing. At times it's frustrating, but right now it's her best asset.

She smiles sweetly at the guy whose wallet she just relieved of two hundred dollar bills as she hands him a scrap of paper with a fake number scrawled on it. He’s grinning smugly and waving after her and she almost rolls her eyes. Winding her way through the sea of people, she makes her way to the bathroom; a breather, a minute of reprieve from the humidity of the air inside the club, a chance to count her earnings thus far.

The bathroom’s not empty but not crowded either and she finds an empty stall, leans against the cool but slightly sticky wall and opens her bag. She’s at 500 dollars, hasn’t been here long but knows she won't be much longer if it goes on like this, one or two more marks, maybe a few wallets nagged in passing and she's done for the day. Maybe she'll leave for another place if she feels like it - solely for some fun.

Because truly, this isn't fun. It may be easy, but it’s so damn boring and _low_ that it makes her head ache some days. But she doesn't want to admit that to Danny and joining him on whatever schemes he hatches is fun but it’s also absolutely not what she wants. She wants her own plans and her own team and her own fucking money that comes from places where it should be absolutely safe. Not from a pant pocket. The simple issue is that she simply doesn't know people in their business who aren't affiliated with Danny except for Tammy, but she doesn’t want Danny’s people and Tammy is brilliant at what she does but she has responsibilities and an actual life and not a whole lot of time to get looped into elaborate schemes. So she settles on this and dreams.

Stepping out of the stall, she goes to wash her hands, checks her makeup and smiles at the two girls at the sinks as she leaves again, back out into the club.

It’s still too hot, but her mind feels clearer now. She takes a second to scan the room; her best shot is probably the bar, with enough people there that she won't stick out and can still get her hands in enough pockets.

She makes her way over, wiggles her fingers a little to make sure she’s fit. A guy leaning over the bar, brown leather wallet; a man talking to his friend, a stash of bills from his pocket; a blonde flirting with another woman, a -

Warm fingers circle her wrist just as she's about to slip the smooth black leather wallet out of equally nice leather pants, and Debbie feels like her life flashes before her eyes.

The hand holding her wrist brings it up, and when Debbie looks up from her wrist to the face of her captor, she sees bright blue eyes. There’s an expression in them she can't quite decipher and she's instantly fascinated.

“Honey, if you wanna put your hands in my pants, I have a much better suggestion,” the blonde quips, and _oh_. That accent isn’t something Debbie thinks she’s heard before but it’s music to her ears.

“I’m afraid I don't know what you mean,” Debbie replies, smoothly, shaking herself from her brief moment of fascination. “I was just passing.”

“Yeah, right…”

The woman in front of Debbie is utterly unconvinced and Debbie knows she won't fool her, but she has to keep up the act. They’re looking at each other, assessing, trying to figure each other out. It's almost electric and Debbie feels like the fingers curled around her wrist burn a circle into her skin, branding her.

“Do you want me to call the police, or something?” Right. The other woman is still there, the one the blonde had been talking to. Her captor turns to her, fingers still curled tightly around Debbie’s wrist, and shakes her head.

“It’s alright,” the blonde says, and turns back to Debbie. She leans up into her space, tugs her down a little by her wrist so Debbie is so close she can feel her breath against her ear when she whispers, “never con a con.”

And with that, she lets go.

 

Debbie goes to the same club the next week.

It may be a bad idea, but she's determined to prove that she's better than being caught by some random woman. And maybe it's also the fact that she hasn't been able to get her out of her mind and maybe, just maybe, she's kind of hoping to see her again. Just maybe.

The moment she enters she can feel people's eyes on her but for once she isn’t returning those gazes to check out who’d be the easiest victim. Instead, she looks around almost warily, holding out for _her_.

When she walks up to the bar, she almost stops dead in her tracks because there she is, the blonde who occupied most of Debbie’s thoughts in the past week, sitting the bar, leaning on it on her elbows but somehow still looking _so_ self assured. She doesn’t seem to have noticed her yet and so Debbie walks the rest of the way over, sliding elegantly onto the bar stool next to the mystery woman.

“Dry martini, please,” she signals the bartender, relieved she still seems to command the same attention as always. She doesn’t seem nervous then, apparently. He comes over with her drink and Debbie is about to hand him a ten dollar bill when one gets slammed onto the bar in front of her. “No, no, it’s my treat.”

The bartender just shrugs, takes the money and moves on to the next customer, but Debbie finds herself staring at the spot for a split second longer before she slowly lifts her gaze.

It’s the accent, she thinks, that's got her so transfixed. Or maybe it's the rough edges presented to her, contrasting beautifully with the smooth voice. The way those blue eyes sparkle. She doesn’t know, but it really shouldn't matter either because she needs to keep herself in check - this is risky, after all, seeking out someone who knows what she does, if not who she is.

They’re staring at each other again, and it’s the blonde who finally breaks the silence. “I’m Lou.” She holds out her hand and when Debbie takes it she lifts it to kiss her knuckles, a feather light touch that seems honest even if it's obviously supposed to be mocking; Debbie feels like her nerve endings are on fire.

“Debbie,” she finally croaks and immediately clears her throat, “thanks for the drink.”

Lou just chuckles and lifts her own drink. “No need to thank me,” she replies, and clinks her glass against Debbie’s when she doesn’t catch on. “Cheers.”

“So. Why did you come back here, _Debbie_?” Lou draws out her name when she finally speaks again, having waited for Debbie to take a sip of her own drink. “You don’t seem like the type of person who'd be stupid enough to come back to a place you've already been caught at.” She looks at her and chuckles. “Or maybe you are?”

Debbie doesn’t rise to her bait, but she has to admit she's entertained by the way this woman seems to have figured her out. Or the way she believes to have her figured out, anyways. Because Debbie Ocean isn’t easily deciphered. She’s the one reading others, always, but right now that's difficult and it's a weird, uncomfortable feeling. It makes her want to run, but she doesn't do that, either. That's something she can control and she wants to see this through, because this woman has already occupied her thoughts for a week now and she won't allow her there for a day longer.

“Shouldn't I ask you the same? After all, you're here again as well…”

Lou raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t steal anything here, though. A heart, maybe, but…” She winks, and Debbie feels her heart skip a beat. Fuck. This was such a bad idea, she thinks, but she’s not gonna back out now.

The only thing she can do in response is smile, because she's momentarily lost for words. She's stalling, from the lack of a verbal response to the way she takes a sip of her martini and she hopes it isn’t painfully obvious, that the blonde - Lou - thinks it's a moment to deliberately assess her. Maybe she'd even be a little intimidated, finally. But she has no such luck; instead, Lou watches her carefully and raises her eyebrow and smiles like a cat that got the canary. She looks so smug and _fuck_ if it isn't a good look for her.

“You didn’t steal anything _here_?” Debbie asks finally, smirking because she has finally realized that this is the loophole she's been waiting for. A chance to show each other their cards without ever being explicit.

Lou’s smile widens and she sets her glass, which she's held in her hand since they began their conversation, down.

“Look at that. She’s not so dull after all.”

Finally! Debbie’s insides feel like they’re doing a victory dance and she has to fight to keep her expression neutral, her poker face well in place. She can't say she doesn’t enjoy a good game of cat and mouse but sometimes she just wants to cut straight to the chase and as entertaining as it’s been so far, she wants to know more about this woman, things that are not veiled by teasing and half-truths. She’s not sure that’ll actually work out in her favor.

“So,” Lou begins again, obviously having had enough of the silence stretching between them. “Are you just a pickpocket?”

Debbie laughs and shakes her head. The question is insulting to her at best but she doesn't let it show, lets herself be amused instead. Lets Lou guess a little.

She takes a last sip of her martini and places the empty glass on the bar with a soft ‘clink’. When she gets up, the movement brings her close to Lou already and she leans closer still, eerily reminiscent of their first meeting a week ago.

“I like you.”

It's a surprisingly honest remark, even to herself, as she whispers against Lou’s ear. It feels almost magical, a moment that exists solely between them, and when she pulls back she smiles secretively.

“I’ll see you around, I guess,” Debbie says as she steps away, a half goodbye thrown over her shoulder in an attempt to act casual. Lou barely smiles and nods, turning back to the bartender to order another drink as Debbie walks away.

She’s halfway to the door, one hand finding the back pocket of her jeans, when she stops dead in her tracks. Her wallet is gone. There’s a brief moment of panic flashing through her before her brain makes the connection and she turns on her heels, striding back to where she came from in quick, determined steps.

This time, Lou isn’t sitting hunched over the bar but casually leaning back on it with one elbow, a triumphant smirk on her face as she's holding up Debbie’s wallet in front of her. It makes Debbie wonder whether she wants to slap or kiss that smirk off her face.

“You missing something?”

Lou is absolutely smug and Debbie pierces her with an unwavering gaze as she approaches her.

“Fuck you,” she snarls as soon as she’s close enough, making a grab for the wallet but Lou pulls it out of her reach.

“I thought you liked me?” she asks innocently, batting her eyelashes at Debbie. “I’m just getting my revenge. You gotta be quicker, baby.”

And Debbie _knows_ that term of endearment slips out on accident, or maybe it's deliberate teasing, but she can't help the butterflies in her stomach. That accent just makes it sound _so_ good. She takes a step closer, so close she's pressing up against Lou and crowding her against the bar, arms on either side of her. “Give it to me.”

“Gladly.”

Lou is grinning at the innuendo and Debbie rolls her eyes, trying to play this cool.

“You’re a literal child. May I have my wallet back, please?”

“Since you asked so nicely,” Lou purrs, bringing it up between their bodies and before she can blink Debbie has nagged it from her hand.

“Thanks.”

She pockets her wallet but doesn't move otherwise and they’re so close she can feel Lou’s breath on her cheek, steady and warm. There’s that glint again, the one that drew her in like a moth to a flame a week ago and she feels herself getting weak. Bad idea.

With a huff, she steps back and slides onto the empty seat next to Lou again, breathes.

“So...”

It’s all she says and she lets the word hang between them, stretching.

“So…” Lou repeats, slowly and drawn out, watching Debbie. “You’re not just a pickpocket then?”

It’s an interesting way to draw Debbie back into the conversation she left so abruptly, but she has to admit she's even more intrigued now.

“What are you saying?” Debbie asks, because there has to be more to this. There always is.

Lou shrugs. “I know a good con when I see her. And I know a con in need of a partner, too.” She grins at the way Debbie can't hide her frown because she’s _right_ , but it irks Debbie to admit that. “All I’m saying is, if you ever decide to step up from this -” she gestures around vaguely “- then I could be your woman.”

“Why should I trust you?” Debbie asks immediately, because trust, as far as it can exist in their world, is a necessity. “Why would you trust me?”

And Lou just shrugs and takes another sip of her drink.

“I don’t know, baby, you’ll have to figure that out on your own.”

She downs the last of her drink and sets the empty glass down on the bar a little more forcefully than necessary.

“Think about it,” she says, slides out of her seat and smiles at Debbie over her shoulder. “You know where to find me.”

 

Debbie comes back a week later and finds Lou in the very same seat. She orders a dry martini, pays for it herself this time, and makes Lou an offer.

**Author's Note:**

> lemme know what you think!!


End file.
